


Word on the Street

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A would-be adventurer arrives in Skyrim only to find that everything's been done already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Word on the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt on skyrimkinkmeme over at LJ](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5151366#t5151366).

"You lookin' for a new blade?"

"Yes, actually." Tom says, eyeing the forge. He's lost the dagger that he'd bought in Falkreath-- worthless thing that was. Serves him right for thinking cheaply. _I don't want to fight something_ too _close._ "I need a sword."

Alvor gestures to the workbench, where some weapons are laid out. These ones are built a little less flashily than what soldiers carried back home. Once, he'd found a book in his master's office, a short read that described different types of weapons. Odd to think that if he hadn't chanced flipping through it between tasks, he'd have no idea what he's looking at now.

"How much for a steel one?"

"135 Septims," he says.

Tom has 109 pieces in his purse. "As for the iron?"

"75."

He considers bartering, but last time he tried he ended up paying double. Today, he will nip that possibility in the bud. "I'll give you 80!"

Alvor's brows wrinkle together as he looks at him for a long moment. "Okay."

Tom nods in a way he hopes is firm. "Here."

Alvor takes it after a beat. "If you're sure."

"If _you're_ sure." He nods again very firmly. The sword is a good bit heavier than he'd anticipated and it goes clanging on the floor.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry!" Cheeks heating, he hauls it up over his shoulder and runs away before... before he can drop it again.

-

The Sleeping Giant Inn is a nice enough place. It's a novel thing, renting rooms. _Mine for a day_. His old quarters had been in a basement and the bed wasn't really his. Temporary or not, it warms him to own something.

"Any ideas for work?" Tom asks. "I'm looking for work."

Orgnar shrugs. "The mine was cleared last week. You could chop wood for Gerdur."

"The mine? Have there been problems?"

"Embershard was raided by bandits," Tom's heart rate picks up, "but like I said, it was cleared last week." He deflates.

"Do you think... you think they'll come back?"

"No. The Dragonborn took care of them."

"Oh... okay." He twiddles his thumbs. "I'd like to rent a room."

"Tired, huh? You know, the Dragonborn never sleeps."

"Well, I'm not the Dragonborn."

"No, you're not."

-

The Bannered Mare is a livelier place. Whiterun reminds Tom of home, somewhat, so he takes care to avoid the Cloud District. He has no interest in returning to the shadows of nobles.

"I am," the weight of his as-of-yet-unused iron sword is still hard to get used to, "something of an adventurer. Got any interesting news?"

"The Dragonborn was here yesterday. You could hear her steps all across town -- clink, clink, clink. All that jewelry. She also adopted an orphan. I wish she'd adopt _me_."

"Um. Any bandits around?"

"Not in Whiterun. The hold's been free of them for months."

"I haven't seen any deer. Are there too many bears in these parts?"

"No. The Dragonborn is the greatest hunter."

"There are dragons in Skyrim, aren't there?"

"They're slaves of the Dragonborn now. She has whole stables of them, I hear."

Tom frowns. "Is your boss hiring? Just short-term, mind you."

"I'm afraid not," says the worker, "but would you like something to drink?"

"No, ma'am." Tom winks. "Got to keep my aim sharp." He drums his fingers on the table. "Do you have any apples?"

"I can hook you up with a cheese wheel for 30 gold."

He has 90 left. "Excellent."

-

He meets a gentleman named Amren, who boasts of the Dragonborn who retrieved his family sword. Amren says his family never had a special shield or armor set. He also does not have any missing relatives or pets as of this moment, but that was so nice of you to ask.

-

Broken Fang cave is home to naked corpses and an empty chest. Tom wonders how much he can sell a handful of dusty skulls for.

-

Rorikstead is quiet. Tom picks wheat to refill his purse.

"This is Gleda," says Ennis, with an aura of pride usually reserved for relatives of royalty.

"Hello, Gleda," says Tom.

-

Just at the end of a bridge is a vacated camp. Tom stuffs his pack with salvaged arrows from the ground, but finds little else of interest.

-

He makes it to yet another bridge. He stares at the foreign skull on the arch for a while, wonders what it took to slay such a beast.

Another settlement, another chance at work.

One of the handmaidens back home had said her brother got stretch marks -- like a woman with child, she said! -- after working at a lumber mill. So, Tom heads straight for the tavern.

"What sort of rumors have you heard lately?"

Faida arches a brow. "The Dragonborn is in charge of the College of Winterhold now. Strange for such a skilled warrior, if you ask me. She's killed a herd of mammoths with her fists-- why bother with fancy magic?"

"I've never seen a mammoth."

"Consider yourself lucky to have come to Skyrim now, traveler."

"Right."

-

Solitude is a pocket of peaceful civilization.

"We were besieged recently," says a shopkeep, "such dreadful business. Although... the Dragonborn did it all by herself. Unparalleled mastery of weapons."

"You admire her for it?!"

"The Dragonborn _lives_ here now! She bought Proudspire Manor, moved her family here and everything. We are neighbors to a legend. My children are friends to the Dragonborn's children. It's an honor. Every two days, she sells me the most wondrous clothing."

And here she'd only bought some salmon meat. "I have this lovely tunic--"

"I'm not interested."

-

Tom gives up trying to find Morthal from the sketchy directions a beggar had provided -- it's much easier to follow the coastline. He finds a house with a cow, horse, and chicken, but doesn't see anything else nearby. A few disastrous days later, he makes it to a place called Dawnstar.

"The Dragonborn was sighted in Riften, Markarth, the Bard's College, and Mixwater Mill-- at the same time!"

"How do you know that?" Tom's flat tone is hardly questioning.

"Witnesses, traveler. You've no reason to doubt the Dragonborn's power."

"Yeah, I guess. I've heard a lot about her."

"Clearly not enough if you say the Dragonborn is a _her_."

"Huh?"

The bard leans in close. "The Dragonborn isn't like us mortals. The Dragonborn is above men and women and belongs to neither group. Between the Dragonborn's legs is--"

The innkeeper shouts, "Karita!"

Karita promptly goes back to singing and Tom has lost his appetite.

-

" ** _What is the illusion of life?_** _"_

Tom studies the strange, glowing door for at least ten minutes. _Aha!_ "Jobs that aren't already done!"

" ** _You are not worthy._** "

Tom moves on.

-

Tom has a beard that goes down three ribs now. Sometimes he deigns to comb it with his fingers. Sometimes.

Maramal has given up on him as well as the Bee and Barb. Thank the gods for that.

"Hear the Thieves Guild is recruiting," a shady no-name says, sidling in close. "Led by the Dragonborn herself. All the riches in Skyrim await."

"More's the pity." Tom slugs down the rest of his ale.


End file.
